


Smiles we left behind

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Arthur is a clotpole, Canon Era, Canon Related, Canon Universe, F/M, Heartbreak, M/M, merlin loves arthur so much, semi-happy ending, yes gwen is married to arthur but he loves merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:35:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: Sometimes smiles were the most painful things of all. As Merlin watched Arthur laugh with Gwen, his own heart was breaking.
Relationships: Gwen/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 18
Kudos: 154
Collections: Camelot Drabble — Prompt #388:The Way We Are





	1. Chapter 1

Laughter, loud whispers, two heads together as they shared intimate smiles. It was all Merlin could do not to dump wine on them both or stomp out of the room in fury. Instead, he stood there, the always ignored servant, holding a wine pitcher, waiting for a signal to fill their glasses. He couldn’t even snarl in distaste or let the tears clogging his throat mar that perfect scene.

Standing there, he kept telling himself he had no reason to complain. Arthur had been very clear that while he might care for a servant, he could never marry one.

Until he did.

Merlin couldn’t fault Gwen. He loved her like a sister and while she’d stolen the heart of the only man he’d ever love, she hadn’t known that he and Arthur had once shared more than friendship or whatever the hell it was.

Arthur hadn’t promised that he’d be true, that they’d be together for all their lives. He hadn’t promised anything.

Even though with every breath, every kiss, every thrust of his body into Merlin’s, there had been love there. Merlin was sure of it.

But a male servant as consort was beyond what was acceptable at court. There was the matter of bloodlines and dynasties and heirs. Merlin knew that, Merlin accepted it, even though in his heart of hearts, broken as it was, he wanted to pull Gwen away, wanted to claim Arthur for his own, wanted to let the whole court know that Merlin was Arthur’s and Arthur was his.

Standing there, he remembered the smiles Arthur had sent him, the times they’d made love, Merlin refused to call it fucking, that was too crude for what they had shared. How Arthur would take him rough and fast in the forest, would bend him over the table in his chambers and pump into him until he could barely move when they were done, how he would tie Merlin up on Arthur’s soft bed and draw out the pleasure for what seemed like an eternity. Mouths and cocks and hands, gentle or hard, sweet or rough, in storerooms and armories and on the fur rug in Arthur’s chambers, it didn’t matter. Merlin would always be Arthur’s. 

Blinking back the tears that even now threatened to fall, Merlin almost didn’t notice that Gwen had withdrawn, that the court was going off to celebrate the joyous occasion and Arthur was lingering by the door.

He was staring at Merlin, almost as if he could hear the despair pounding Merlin’s heart into dust. For a moment, Merlin thought Arthur was going to say something, do something, beg forgiveness perhaps or declare that he’d married the wrong person. For a moment, he thought Arthur would rush to him, fold Merlin in his arms, kiss away the pain and never let go.

But Arthur just stood there, silent, watching Merlin. Then as a door opened and closed somewhere nearby, the sound of laughter and music jarring in the moment, Arthur nodded once, and turned away.

Merlin watched him go.

When he was alone again, his fingers cramping from holding onto the fucking wine pitcher, some of the liquid sloshed onto his fingers and soaked the tunic, Arthur’s old tunic, that Gaius had insisted he wear to the wedding. Merlin looked down into the wine’s dark depths, then bringing the pitcher up to his mouth, began to drink.

In the morning, he knew he’d have a spectacular hangover, but he didn’t care. His heart was dead anyway and what was a little more pain.

And tomorrow, he’d have some choices to make.

* * *

  
In the end, there was no choice. Love or not, despair or not, destiny was the force that drove Merlin on, that gave him some sense of purpose.

That didn’t mean that he wasn’t dead inside. The pain of seeing them together every day never really lessened, but Merlin tried not to let it ruin his friendship with Gwen.

Now that she was queen, she had to pull back a bit, seem more aloof in public, and there were times when she treated Merlin as a servant, and he understood that. That’s what he was after all, a lowly disposable peasant as Arthur had often reminded him in their early days as master and servant. But when he was alone with Gwen, she still was the sweet and caring woman she’d always been, and she’d apologize and stutter a bit, and it would be almost as if nothing had happened. That marriage and politics and Camelot hadn’t come between their friendship.

But it had.

Arthur was worse, though. When Merlin didn’t snark back as he once had done, when he didn’t do anything but say ‘yes, sire’ and ‘no, sire’ and ‘of course, sire’, Arthur at first didn’t know what to do.

It was, after all, their banter that had opened the doors to more than friendship. Merlin complained and Arthur teased him back and then they’d end up wrestling on the floor and that usually led to a different kind of wrestling, usually one where Merlin could barely walk after.

There was no wrestling now. Every time Arthur went to touch him, a friendly pat on the shoulder, Arthur’s fingers ruffling Merlin’s hair, a punch on the arm, Merlin jerked back just out of reach. Merlin made sure his face was carefully blank, though. He’d made excuses and scurry away, hiding in some dusty corner until he could get his breath back.

Arthur acted as if nothing had happened, that they were the same as they always were. There were even heated glances at times, although Merlin wasn’t sure that Arthur was even aware of it. The man seemed oblivious to what he’d done and the life he’d destroyed.

But Merlin wasn’t having any of it. Not the going-on-as-usual or the longing looks or the banter. None of it.

Even his friends among the knights noticed. Merlin just shook them off, initially telling them that nothing was wrong, that he was perfectly happy with the way things were and changed the subject. When they pressed, Gwaine especially, Merlin finally told them to fuck off, that it was none of their business.

Of course, Gwaine wouldn’t take no for an answer. He cornered Merlin when no one else was around, hounding him to tell him what was going on, promising not to do anything to princess prat if that’s what Merlin wanted. He tried teasing and wheedling and getting Merlin drunk – a problem becoming all too common of late. But Merlin was adamant.

Finally, even Gwaine backed off. He must have seen how upset Merlin was underneath the false smiles and subservience. He was too good a friend to keep pressing for answers. Merlin was so grateful to him that when Gwaine stopped, Merlin paid for a couple of rounds of drinks next time they went to the Rising Sun.

Merlin still didn’t tell Gwaine, though. He didn’t want him getting involved, mainly because he knew Gwaine would likely go off and punch Arthur out and maybe shout at him or challenge him to a duel in front of the other knights. Gwaine wasn’t always the most judicious of men, and while Merlin loved him for it like the wayward brother he never had, he wouldn’t let Gwaine pay the price for Merlin’s stupidity in trusting Arthur with his heart.

So he grew more and more isolated. He did his work. Arthur’s chambers had never been so clean and there was no reason for Arthur to grumble. The laundry was done without protest, the food delivered on time and hot, the fire lit before the room grew too cold, a hundred things that Merlin had done sloppily or not at all were suddenly servant-perfect.

The silence between Arthur and Merlin grew into a wall miles thick.

It was bound to break at some point. Merlin didn’t see it coming.


	2. Chapter 2

The first inkling was Gwen asking Merlin for something.

He didn’t even remember what it was. But he’d had little sleep, Arthur was haunting his nights, with dreams of pain and magical threats and sometimes ecstasy, too, that shamed Merlin come morning. He dealt with Arthur’s silence to him as well as he could, but he overheard Arthur’s biting commentary that morning to the others about some small thing that Merlin had done wrong, and it fueled his fury and despair and had him questioning whether he’d made the right decision to stay after all.

He was worn down, in body and spirit. He’d stopped eating, too, his appetite gone, and he’d only remembered when Gaius scowled at him. The food tasted like dust, and only drink, strong and potent, had sustained him for far too long.

So when Gwen repeated his name and made some mild inquiry after his health, Merlin couldn’t take any more. “I’m just a servant, your Majesty. Disposable, worthless, easily replaced. If I disappeared tomorrow, who would care? You? You’re noble, now, enjoying fine wine and cheeses, meat and fresh bread. Do you even remember what it was like?”

The look on Gwen’s face should have been a clue to shut up, or at least apologize, but Merlin had had enough. Gwen had done nothing to have him shouting at her, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “Or did you forget how you’d be hounded until you were exhausted and then have to get up again with the dawn because some arse might sack you or beat you or worse if you weren’t perfect? Knowing that no matter what you did and how much you’d sacrificed, it would be discounted, dismissed as irrelevant, or mocked. That kings and queens can do no wrong, but servants pay the price for the blindness of royals.”

Shock was already morphing into anger in her eyes and then tears, before she said, “You need help, Merlin. You can’t really think that’s how we think of you. Arthur is very worried about ….”

Interrupting, Merlin said, “Arthur doesn’t give a damn about me. He’s told me so often enough that I was pathetic. Idiot, fool, buffoon. A useless toad of a servant. Incompetent. Need I go on? You’ve heard them all often enough. He’s shouted them out to me in front of my friends, the court, and visiting kings. Did you think I’d just take it and not break under the weight of his contempt?”

Gwen looked horrified. “Merlin, you know how he is. He can’t say what….”

Shaking his head because if he didn’t, he’d shake apart, Merlin said, “It doesn’t matter, your Majesty. He can say what he likes, and he thinks there are no consequences. Maybe he’s right.”

With that, he gave a half-bow, then turned away, ignoring Gwen’s increasing entreaties, and slammed the door behind him. 

There was blessed silence for a moment, but he knew that it wasn’t the end.

He’d have to leave after all, as he should have done months ago. Destiny be damned.

* * *

It didn’t take long. Merlin was in his room, gathering up his belongings. There weren’t a lot of them. After all, he’d sent most of his money home to his mum and only bought new clothes when his old started to fall apart. All he had really were a few trinkets that Gwaine and the other knights gifted him whenever Arthur was being an arse and they wanted to cheer him up, and the carved dragon that Balinor had made him the night before he died. The book Gaius gave him would remain behind for now. He’d send for it once he was settled.

He didn’t even hear Arthur come in. But then he didn’t really care what Arthur thought or did or went or didn’t go, not anymore. 

“You made Gwen cry.” Arthur sounded furious.

Merlin stopped a moment, then shoved the last of his clothes into his bedroll and began to tie it up. He refused to look at Arthur. “I would apologize to her, but it’s the truth and I won’t lie to her anymore. I’m sorry I made her upset. She didn’t deserve that, but it doesn’t matter. She’ll forget all about some insignificant peasant yelling at her in time. Now get out of my way.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur was scowling at him. “I’m sure she’ll forgive you for it. All you have to do is….”

Merlin was having none of it. His voice venomous, Merlin snarled out, “Is what, your _Majesty_? Should I lie to her? Tell her that what I said wasn’t true and that I was having a bad day? Should I look her in the eye and tell her that I didn’t mean it?” Merlin was shaking, rage filling him up to overflowing. “I did mean it, you utter pillock. I’m leaving, with or without your permission.”

Arthur didn’t move, just stood there. He probably thought he could intimidate Merlin by blocking his escape. The wanker.

“You are obviously off your head.” Arthur folded his arms across his chest, puffing himself up to look even more threatening than usual. The scowl was thunderous, too. He looked as angry as Merlin had ever seen him. “Gwen was right. You need help.”

Merlin could barely keep it together. “From you? The man who constantly bullies me into submission? The arse who threatens me with the stocks if I have an opinion that contradicts your own? Who uses me for target practice when you feel the need to show off? Who dismisses me with every breath?” He pulled up his pack and hooked it over his shoulder. “No thanks.”

With every word, Arthur’s scowl was turning into confusion, as if he’d never even thought of how it might feel to be the butt of jokes and the constant bullying. He was staring, open-mouthed, watching Merlin break apart.

“I don’t do that. I would never….” Arthur looked genuinely upset.

But it didn’t matter. In the old days, when they were shagging on every surface in Camelot and even before that when Arthur still treated him with some respect, little though it was, Merlin would have backed off, would have accepted that Arthur’s upbringing was as much a barrier to understanding as anything else. He would have blamed Uther for it and given Arthur a pass. But those days were long gone.

Finally, finally, Merlin saw Arthur clearly and it wasn’t good.

Merlin threw down his pack, thrust a finger straight at Arthur’s face, mere inches away. “You did, every day. Every damn day. Idiot, buffoon, incompetent, lackwit, daffodil, girl’s petticoat. I’m just a joke to you.” When Arthur stood his ground, letting Merlin poke at him but not retreating one iota, Merlin said, “You used me up, and threw me away, and then expected me to come crawling back to you, begging like a dog for scraps. To hell with you. I’m done.”

“You can’t talk to me like that.” Arthur was always one to bluster when he knew he was wrong, and then later apologize without actually saying the words. But sometimes he just didn’t know when to quit. Drawing himself up, scowling as if that alone would shut Merlin up, Arthur said, “Any other servant would have been sacked long ago for such insolence.”

For a moment, Merlin’s vision turned red. The colour of blood and fire and incandescent rage. He was shaking apart as he said, “Servant…”

Merlin stood there, trying to breathe and not punch the arse right in the mouth. It wouldn’t have made any difference. Arthur was too blind to see what he’d wrought in his arrogance and royal self-importance. Finally, Merlin managed to grit his teeth and keep from making things worse than they already were. “Well, good, glad to know that.” 

Arthur blinked, his face paling. He must have realized finally, _finally_ , that something was broken between them. “Merlin, I didn’t mean it like that.” When Merlin didn’t say anything else, just kept glaring at him, Arthur rubbed one hand through his hair, a clear sign of uncertainty. “There are times I can’t… you are being unreasonable.”

For the tiniest moment, between one heartbeat and the next, Merlin thought that Arthur might have changed, might want to actually apologize.

But when he didn’t, Merlin turned away, and reached again for his bedroll. Not looking at Arthur, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing that Arthur had hurt Merlin more than words could express, he said, in a voice as cold as winter. “Well, good thing I’m leaving then. You’ll be much happier with bootlickers. Now get out of my way.”

“Merlin….” Arthur grabbed him, his hand solid on Merlin’s arm.

Merlin didn’t know what Arthur was trying to do, but Merlin flung him off, shoved him back, fast and brutal, as hard as he could, hard enough that when Arthur hit the door, it made a loud thunk. 

His heart pounding, his anger skyrocketing even as memories of other times, other touches were driving him on, Merlin shouted, thunderous and vicious, “Don’t touch me. Don’t you fucking touch me or so help me, you’ll regret it.”

Arthur was a diplomat when it came to politics, dealing with the kings and queens of other countries, making sure he was fair and just to all. Except with Merlin. With Merlin, he never seemed to have a clue. Not that he tried to understand and as always, Arthur did the wrong thing. He stared at Merlin and then shook his head in condescending disbelief.

“You can barely lift a sword. What makes you think you can take me?” Pushing himself away from the door, his arms wide, his hands motioning for a fight, he said, “Go on. Try.”

The wanker was asking for it, asking for Merlin to take him apart with less than one blow, as he should have done the first time he met Arthur. 

His magic was aching to get out, too, to follow Merlin’s anger down a path that Merlin couldn’t see the end of, other than to darkness and death. But he shoved it back down. His fury was physical and damn him all to hell, he’d make sure Arthur knew that Merlin wasn’t the weakling Arthur thought he was when he was done.

He didn’t need magic for that. He’d learned a few things in the years since he’d come to Camelot. And he knew Arthur’s weaknesses as well as his own.

Before Arthur could mock him again, Merlin threw one fist toward Arthur, knowing that the arse could grab it and try and him twist around. But Arthur had forgotten about Merlin’s other hand, and while Arthur was moving forward, Merlin’s fist slammed into Arthur’s mouth.

The look on Arthur’s face, a mixture of blood and astonishment, was utter satisfaction.

His hand hurt like hell, but Merlin didn’t stop. He’d learned a few things from Gwaine, too. Stomping down on Arthur’s foot, his elbow coming up to try and connect with Arthur’s nose and break it, but Arthur wasn’t a trained killer for nothing.

Spitting out blood, even as he blocked Merlin’s arm, he jabbed into Merlin’s ribs, twisting his foot to curl around Merlin’s leg and pulled.

They both went down like trees felled in a forest. The few items still on Merlin’s bed went flying even as they toppled past it and onto the floor.

Rolling around, scratching and biting and punching at every inch of vulnerability in Arthur, Merlin was grunting, too, because Arthur might have been pulling his punches or maybe not. There was pain blossoming near his kidney and a bruise forming on the inside of his thigh, his knee felt like it had taken a hit, too, and his face was dripping blood. His bollocks were tender, a side swipe as Arthur tried to gain the upper hand, and fingers felt broken or at least very very sprained.

It was inevitable though, because Arthur was stronger than Merlin, and without magic, Merlin wasn’t quite the warrior Arthur was, no matter what fighting techniques he used.

In the end, Merlin lay there panting, Arthur’s full weight on him pining him down. He could feel something dripping down into his scalp and blood was smeared on Merlin’s hands and across Arthur’s mouth. 

Still, Arthur glanced around him, and then back down to Merlin. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

Merlin let out a breath, then looking straight into the eyes of the man he still loved and always would, he said, “You are. You’re what’s wrong.”

Arthur jerked back at that. Words could wound as much as a fist thrown in anger, and for a moment, Merlin thought it might have connected. But then Arthur shook his head. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Whatever you think I’ve done, it’s not….”

Merlin struggled at that, hoping to dislodge Arthur and flee before he said too much. Kneeing Arthur in the backside, rocking back and forth, pulling at his hands trapped under Arthur’s own, he gave one last heave, but Arthur was too heavy, the utter wanker. At least Arthur winced. Merlin must have hurt him somehow during their fight, and it felt good that Merlin wasn’t the only one in pain. 

But how dare Arthur look bewildered, how dare he think he isn’t to blame. Laying under Arthur, staring up into that loved face, Merlin spat out, “You married Gwen, didn’t you? After fucking me, you married her.”

“Of course, I did. She’s a wonderful woman and I love her like… is that what this is about? That I can’t… that we can’t….”

Finally, Arthur was putting two and two together and getting an actual clue. At first, he just blinked as though confused as to why Merlin would object. After all, Gwen and Merlin had been friends for as long as Merlin had been there. But then Merlin could almost see the wheels turning as Arthur started to stammer out his objections.

Merlin didn’t want to hear any more. Cutting through all the denials, shoving Arthur’s hands away as Merlin half-sat up, he said, flat and uncompromising, “I may just be an unwashed peasant in your eyes, I may be that idiot you are always accusing me of being, but I deserve to be treated better than weeks old trash, just because you got tired of using me.”

Jerking back as if slapped, Arthur said, “I didn’t… I never used you.”

When Merlin didn’t say anything else, just half-sat there glaring at him, Arthur scrambled up, then turning around and around in Merlin’s tiny room, scrubbing his bloody hand through sweaty hair, sounding almost contrite, Arthur said, “I couldn’t… I had to marry, Merlin. I _had_ to. I thought you understood that. A king has responsibilities above his own desires.”

Pushing himself up, slowly and very carefully, Merlin kept out of Arthur’s way. He didn’t want another fight. His hand was throbbing, and his knee felt like it would give out any minute. Instead of confronting him, Merlin began to gather the things that had fallen out of his pack, and putting them back in.

But he wasn’t going to let Arthur get away with excuses, not if this was the last time he’d ever see him.

“Of course you have responsibilities. That makes perfect sense. Of course, you can’t keep fucking the peasant boy when you have a lovely queen to impregnate.”

“You make it sound….” Arthur stopped his pacing, his eyes focused on Merlin’s. “It wasn’t like that.”

For a moment, Merlin stopped packing, instead stared back. “Wasn’t it? All I ever got were insults and things thrown at my head. At least whores get paid.”

“You are not a whore. Stop saying that.” Arthur was shouting again, his hands reaching for Merlin.

But Merlin stepped out of his way. “Wasn’t I? Creeping around in dusty corners, hiding from everyone what we were doing. Let’s face it. You were ashamed of me even when you were shoving your cock down my throat.”

Arthur’s mouth was opening and closing, but nothing was coming out. He looked pole axed.

Merlin didn’t wait for Arthur to sputter out any more excuses. He’d heard enough of them already. He finished tying up one end of his bedroll and was about to tie up the other when he spotted the little dragon his father had carved. It was on the floor, its wing broken. It must have tumbled out during the fight.

It was the last straw. 

Merlin sat down on the bed, the ruined carving in his hand, staring at it. The tears refused to stay behind his eyes, began to trickle down Merlin’s cheeks. He wasn’t even making a sound, just gazed down at his father’s last gift. He hadn’t wanted to be this vulnerable in front of Arthur, knowing that he’d be mocked for it.

But he’d had enough. It didn’t matter anymore.

Merlin didn’t even flinch when Arthur sat next to him, their shoulders touching as they used to when they were still almost-friends.

“Can you fix it?” Arthur said, his voice soft. “Maybe with something. I’m sure Gaius would know how.”

Trembling, Merlin didn’t know how to handle Arthur’s sudden gentleness. It took a couple of tries before he mumbled, “It’s broken.”

His voice was trembling, the tears drying on his cheeks. He tried to be strong, but he was exhausted. Arthur seemed to understand that, at last.

“I know,” Arthur murmured. Thankfully he didn’t try and take the shattered dragon away from Merlin, just sat there watching Merlin turning it over and over in his hands. But his was a steady warmth against Merlin’s side.

“I’m broken.” Merlin hadn’t meant to say it, but it was true.

“I know.” Even softer, sounding as if he was as affected as Merlin, Arthur said, “I don’t know how to make things better. I can’t change it. It’s too late and it would always be too late, I think.”

Merlin couldn’t bear to look at Arthur just then. Instead, he asked the air above his head, “Did you ever care, even a little? Ever? Or was it all just a game to you?”

There was a sharp intake of breath and Merlin could feel Arthur move away a bit as if to put distance between them. But when he looked back, Arthur was watching him, his face troubled, his fingers scrubbing across his palm, a sure sign that he was very upset and yet unsure. He was biting at his lip, too, reddening skin that already had dried blood there.

Arthur closed his eyes a moment, as if to steel himself for what he was going to say. When he opened them again, he didn’t turn away, instead, gazed at Merlin with a steadfast determination gleaming there.

Merlin waited for the words that would finally destroy what was left of his heart.

Arthur gave out a long sigh, then said, “You know how… my father told me that to admit to feelings was to show weakness, that a great king should always be alone even when surrounded by a thousand courtiers, that love would only lead to ruin.” He looked down at his hands, then pressed his palms flat against his thighs. It took another moment before he spoke again. “I married Gwen because she is a good person, smart, and wise. I trust her judgment. I thought Camelot needed someone like that.”

So even now, Arthur couldn’t admit that love wasn’t what was between them, that for him, it was only fucking, never anything more.

Despairing, Merlin said, “Your father was right. Love only leads to ruin.”

“My father was an absolute arsehole.” The black venom in Arthur’s voice was a shock. “And he was wrong about love.”

Turning to Merlin, he took the little carving out of Merlin’s hands and gently laid it on the table next to the bed. Then, as Merlin sat there, still stunned by what Arthur had said about love and Uther, Arthur curled his fingers around Merlin’s wrist, a gentle embrace.

Arthur seemed earnest and open and a little desperate. “I thought that you understood how I felt without me having to say it. I’m not good… with expressing feelings. And if people knew how much I care for you, they’d use you for their own ends. Gwen, at least, has some protection as queen. You’d have none.” His fingers closed, tightening almost into pain, but when Merlin grunted in protest, Arthur let up, instead stroking his arm as if to soothe him. He looked like he wanted to apologize for it. “Merlin, I couldn’t marry you, no matter how much I wanted to. It’s just not possible.”

“You could have explained it to me, given me a clue, instead of….” There was still tears clogging his throat and Merlin was having a hard time getting even a few words out. “Just walking away.”

“I didn’t know how.” Arthur looked away, then down at their hands, frowning at them. “It was easier to walk away. You make me crazy.” He glanced up then, staring into Merlin’s eyes, searching for something. “Every time I look at you, I want to… but I can’t. I’m married. And Gwen deserves a faithful husband.”

Merlin knew that. Gwen did deserve her happiness. She’d been a steadfast friend for years, and if it had been anyone else she loved, he’d have been happy for her. But it wasn’t anyone else. It was the man he loved, more than magic or Camelot or even his own life, and it was tearing him apart.

Arthur nudged him a little, one shoulder against his. “Merlin?”

“And what do I deserve?” Merlin whispered.

“To be happy.” Arthur let go, then brought his hand up to cup Merlin’s face, his thumb brushing away tear tracks. “But I don’t know how to give that to you. Everything I do just seems to make things worse.”

Wanting to lean into Arthur’s palm, instead he sat there, rigid, a mixture of love and fading fury and despair all whirling in his chest. There were more tears, too, falling. He couldn’t seem to stop.

“I don’t know what to do. I want to hate you, but I can’t.” Merlin closed his eyes. “I can’t.”

Beside him, Arthur shifted again and there were sword-roughened hands framing Merlin’s face, and a feather-soft kiss that spoke of apology and understanding and regret.

“Merlin, I… I… love you.” Merlin’s eyes flew open at that, but Arthur’s hands were steady on Merlin’s face as he held him there. “Please don’t go. I don’t know what I’d do if you left.” With that, Arthur pulled Merlin into a hug, hard and tight as if he never wanted to let go. Whispering against his neck as he tucked his mouth close to Merlin’s skin, Arthur said, “I can’t be what you want me to be. It’s too late for that. But please, tell me how to make things right between us and I’ll try, I swear I’ll try.”

Merlin couldn’t do anything but hug him back, never wanting to let him go, never wanting to leave his room and let the rest of the world tear them apart.

“You never told me you loved me before. I thought… I thought I was just convenient. I thought….” Merlin murmured into Arthur’s soft hair. “I didn’t know.”

“That I would take you for convenience like you were nothing, a nameless nobody to stick my prick into?” Arthur pulled back out of the hug and Merlin reluctantly let him go. Sounding a little hurt, Arthur said, “Do you think so little of me?”

“You never said anything. What was I to think?” Merlin felt miserable saying it, but it was the truth.

Arthur sent him a scowl. “That I was an honourable man who wanted you with me always.”

“I never questioned your honour, Arthur. I questioned whether I was valued enough to be included in it.”

Rubbing at the frown between his eyes a moment, Arthur said, “You really are an idiot. Haven’t you seen the way I look at you, how I can’t stop touching you even now? And believe it or not, I treat you far better than I ever did with any of my other servants. Of course, I love you. I have for a long time.” Then his eyes narrowed a bit. “Besides, half the castle knows how important you are to me. Gwen certainly does. And you thought….”

“Gwen knows?” Merlin’s heart started to race. If Gwen knew, she’d never forgive him. “Oh, gods above, she must hate me.”

Arthur must have seen him panicking. He rolled his eyes a bit, then nudged him, putting his hand back over Merlin’s own, gently, carefully. “She’s smarter than you, Merlin, or… me. She guessed that we were… together before she and I married. She came into it with her eyes wide open.” Arthur looked away a moment, murmuring, “She knew she was my second choice.” Then he gazed at Merlin with steadfast eyes. “As I was hers.”

So Arthur knew how much Gwen had loved Lancelot. If things had been different, if Lancelot hadn’t been such a self-sacrificing idiot, she’d have married him instead and everything would have changed. Or nothing. Arthur did have to marry and have heirs after all.

But Gwen had been silent, never telling Merlin about how she felt. He’d thought she’d gotten over Lance’s death and loved Arthur whole-heartedly, certainly enough to marry him.

Still, Arthur was hurting and Merlin, even after all they’d been, the arguments, the silence, the misunderstandings, couldn’t bear to see him in pain. “I’m sorry, Arthur. She never told me. I thought, well, with the wedding and all, that it was settled. That she’d chosen you.”

“I… she knew I had to have children to pass on the line. Father harped about it for years. The whole court knew that.” Arthur shrugged a little, then letting go, started playing with his own hands, flicking off little bits of dried blood from their fight. “With Lancelot gone, she liked me well enough and we’re a good match. She steadies me.” Sending Merlin a quick smirk, he said, “Unlike you. You make me crazy at times. Most times.”

Still unhappy that Gwen knew about their relationship, about their previous activities, Merlin said, “She should have told me. At least, I wouldn’t have thought I was stabbing her in the back for loving you.”

“I asked her not to. We argued about it for hours, but in the end, we both knew it had to come from me. It’s just that… sometimes I’m not as brave as you are, Merlin. I let it go on too long. For that, I’m sorry.” Arthur did look sorry, too. It wasn’t just words.

“How she must despise me.”

“She knows that love isn’t really a choice. I know that, too. But I promised her I would be faithful.” Arthur stopped playing with his hands, instead looked up at the ceiling a moment as if to ask the gods for guidance. “What kind of a king would I be otherwise?”

A good king, one that kept his promises, no matter how much Merlin hated the idea. He settled in, ignoring the ache of his wretched knee and his bruises and his fingers hurting from their fight. There was still blood on his hands. He’d not been rubbing it away as Arthur had been. It was a stark reminder of things left unsaid.

Merlin didn’t want to know, didn’t want to push Arthur into answers because he wasn’t sure he’d like them. But they couldn’t remain there, hiding in Merlin’s room, surrounded by broken things. At some point, they’d have to step off the uncertainty’s edge and see where they’d land.

Taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly to steady himself, Merlin said, “And now what? We go on as we have before? You and Gwen. And me alone, watching you smile at one another?”

“Gods no. Never alone. Never.” Arthur flung his arm over Merlin’s shoulder, pulling him close. Merlin could feel Arthur’s breath on his skin, his warmth across Merlin’s back, his hand steady on Merlin’s bruised arm as he said, “I want you by my side. I know I often insult you, but you are the bravest man I’ve ever known, and wise, too. Sometimes too wise.” He let go then, pulling back into himself, huddling as if afraid of Merlin’s answer. “I can’t… like we used to, not in body at least, but I do love you, Merlin. More than I can say. Don’t leave.”

Merlin knew that he’d never leave. Even before their fight and Merlin’s furious packing, through the anger and the self-loathing, he knew deep down inside that it was already too late. His heart had been taken by the stupid prick he’d fallen in love with, and Merlin could not exist without him nearby.

“Do I get a day off once in a while at least?” he said, trying to look put upon and failing miserably.

Arthur’s smile was incandescent. “Not possible.” It turned into a smirk as he said, “But in reality, you should have gotten a half day off every week since you first came to be my servant.”

Glaring at him, Merlin snapped, “You arse.”

“We’ve established that.” And Arthur laughed a little, shrugging as if to say that Merlin should have known that all along.

Merlin just shook his head, sending Arthur another glare before saying. “Things have to change. I won’t be the butt of your jokes anymore. And no throwing things at me.” He turned solemn then, voice steady, uncompromising. “And if some day, I fall in love with someone else, you’ll let me have some happiness.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Not Gwaine, though.”

“If it’s Gwaine, then it is.” Merlin had always thought Arthur a little jealous of Gwaine. Apparently, he was right. “You know that there’ll never been anyone else for me.”

“Nor for me.” Arthur cupped Merlin’s cheek, held his hand steady there. “Will you stay?”

Merlin could only nod.

If anything, Arthur’s smile was sun-brighter now, more luminous than before. He started to get up, wincing a little as he did. Kicking aside the remnants of their fight, he gestured toward the door. “You can clean it up later. I think we should….”

But Merlin just sat there. He’d thought and thought about telling Arthur the other truth about himself and this should have been a perfect time, but instead he said, “Arthur, there’s one thing. Just one.”

When Merlin didn’t say anything else, the fear in his throat keeping him silent, Arthur said, “Yes, what is it? It isn’t Gwaine, is it?”

“No, not Gwaine.” Merlin was still hesitating, then he said, “But sometime in the future, if I ask something of you, will you hear me out before you make judgement? You marrying Gwen wasn’t the only reason I was leaving, but I’m not as brave as you think I am, Arthur.”

Arthur came back into the room. “Can’t you tell me now?”

Shaking his head, Merlin gestured down toward the remnants of the fight, his torn shirt, the blood on his hands, the smear of it on Arthur’s cheek. “We’re a bit of a mess, you and I, and I’m sure Gwen is waiting.”

Arthur looked at him as if trying to figure out just what Merlin was talking about. “That’s a diversion if ever I heard one.”

“You caught me.” Merlin looked down, then back up at Arthur’s confused face. “Just promise to hear me out when I’m ready to ask you. Not to say yes or no, but to listen. Can you promise me that at least?”

“Being mysterious isn’t your strong suit, Merlin.” Arthur stepped closer, leaning down to rest a still-bloody hand on Merlin’s cheek. “But believe it or not, I always listen to you. I just don’t often know what you are babbling about. But yes, I will listen. I promise.”

Merlin smiled at that. And someday when he was courageous enough, he’d remind Arthur of his promise.

Until then, there was one last thing he wanted.

Reaching up, covering Arthur’s hand with his own, pushing it further into Merlin’s skin, he said, “I know that we can’t go back to the way we were, but… I’d like… one more time.”

He stood up, still holding onto Arthur, crowding into his space and gave him one final kiss, a careful, heartfelt press of lips that spoke of longing and love that he’d remember to the end of his days.

Then he let go. “I believe we have a feast to attend, my lord.”

Arthur only nodded, then walked down the stairs, muttering something about getting cleaned up and how famished he was and would Merlin go hunting with him tomorrow.

Merlin just shook his head. Arthur was still a clotpole.

He glanced back to see his dragon, the carving his father had left him, broken on the table next to his bed. With a flash of golden eyes, it was whole again.

And as he climbed down the stairs calling after Arthur to wait up, Merlin knew someday that he would be whole again, too.

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes: From lyrics of The Way We were, written by Alan Bergman, Marilyn Bergman, Marvin Hamlisch   
> Memories light the corners of my mind, Misty water-colored memories of the way we were, Scattered pictures of the smiles we left behind, Smiles we gave to one another for the way we were  
> Disclaimer: Merlin characters are the property of Shine and BBC. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.


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